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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24628357">Honey and Lavender</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmoniHalo/pseuds/HarmoniHalo'>HarmoniHalo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Garden [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anonymous Sex, Catharsis, Crying, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Beta Read, Not Happy, Pining, Scents &amp; Smells, Sensory Deprivation, Strap-Ons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:27:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,935</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24628357</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmoniHalo/pseuds/HarmoniHalo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley gets desperate for some kind of physical contact but isn't willing to having it out with some random. (Especially considering his husk of a heart already belongs to (1) angel that he could never possibly have.) <br/>He takes a chance and books a session at a sex club that specializes in anonymous encounters. Blindfolded and completely sensory deprived, Crowley requests only one thing of his mystery encounter, to smell of honey and lavender.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Garden [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780630</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>49</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Honey and Lavender</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a projection fic. It doesn't have a happy ending and though everything is being consented to, it's not enthusiastic. Please take care while reading.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your room is all ready for you. It's number 5. After you're dressed, knock and someone will retrieve you and take you to the chamber."</p><p> </p><p>The hostess-es parting words echoed in the dead air of the changing room, further adding to the terrible knot in Crowley's chest. And reminding him that yes, he was going through with this. There was no turning back now. </p><p> </p><p>Laying on the marble top of a nearby vanity was the outfit of choice, a black hood with an opening for the mouth and a robe for him to wear to and from the chamber. The sensory deprivation hood  was thick enough to be opaque but thin enough to let sound in. Not that Crowley would need to hear much besides his music choice. He requested his partner to be silent. </p><p> </p><p>His. Partner. The one who he would be with. </p><p>Were they male or female? He didn't specify. It wasn't as if he would see them. Or hear them.  The only part that would touch him would be their hands. He mulled over letting the mouth do a bit of touching as well, but no. That was too much. Would break the immersion. </p><p> </p><p>There was a mirror in the changing room. Rather big one, too. Crowley didn't look in it's reflection, didn't want to see himself in it. </p><p> </p><p>He reached out to grab the hood, looking it over with discerning eye before placing it back down. And began to unbutton his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Pants came next, with a snap of his fingers, the fell haphazardly next to the discarded shirt. </p><p> </p><p>Glasses. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley hesitated a moment before removing them. Even though the hood would cover his inhuman eyes, there was something so intimate about being around someone without them. The only non-demonic being he dared to be around while not having them--no. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley folded the glasses quickly, grabbing the hood and slipping his head into it's vice. The lights of the changing room faded then completely dimmed. Pitch black. </p><p> </p><p>He was doing this. No backing out. </p><p>He was ashamed of himself. Demons don't feel shame, though. They are confident in their actions, especially ones as debaucherous as this. Demons indulged in sins of the flesh, and he was no different. This was happening. He was doing this. He wanted this, he asked for it. </p><p> </p><p>No one forced him to come here and ask for a private session. No one commanded him to walk into the room. No one demanded him to be incredibly specific on what he wanted from his partner.</p><p> </p><p>No genital/genital contact.</p><p>No mouth contact. </p><p>Hands only. </p><p>Blindfolded.</p><p>Soft piano music playing. </p><p>Please smell of honey and lavender.</p><p> </p><p>He did this of his own volition. He was this pathetic. </p><p> </p><p>Before his thoughts could consume him anymore, Crowley knocked on the door of the changing room behind him. Less than a second later, he heard the door open, and felt someone grab his hand. And guide him out of the room. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley heard the soft click clack of the hostess-es heels against the tile floor as they walked to the chamber. He could hear his heart pulsing in his ears and had to force himself to keep moving forward. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i> I can't back out now. I did this. I asked for it. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>I deserve this. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>"Your session will last around an hour and the chamber has been adjusted to your liking. You've been briefed on how to communicate with your partner. And your robe will be waiting for you at the door afterwards. Enjoy."</p><p> </p><p>Crowley could hear the hostess talking somewhere in his mind. Maybe it was to his left or right, he wasn't sure. The lack of vision was really screwing with his perception. </p><p> </p><p>Another hand reached out and he was pulled into what he believed to be the chamber. A familiar piano piece played from somewhere nearby and a particular scent hung heavy in the air. A nostalgic scent. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley was lead by the hand to what he believed to be a couch of some kind. Definitely wasn't a bed, at least from what he could feel. He heard his partner sit down next to him and held his hand steady. Before grabbing his wrist. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley gulped audibly, knowing what was about to happen. </p><p> </p><p>His partner squeezed at his wrist, then waited.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i> I asked for this. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Crowley squeezed his partner's wrist in response, before gasping softly as they leaned in close. </p><p> </p><p>Honey and lavender. </p><p> </p><p>Something sweet and sophisticated. Like he asked for. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley felt a hand on his thigh, that slowly moved to his crotch. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i> You wouldn't go fast, especially since you scold me about it. You would ease into it. Like getting into a swimming pool. You would dip your toe in to test the temp. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Fingertips traced over Crowley's shaft, shamefully straightening up at the foreign touch. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i> You would make a comment about how crass I was, getting an erection just by a simple touch. Your nose would do that wee wiggle and it was be adorable. I'd tell you so and you'd blush and somehow look even more adorable. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>The fingertips became fingers, wrapping themselves delicately around Crowley's cock. He bit his lip painfully, not wanting to let out a single sound, save for a few soft pants. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i> I hope that you would praise me. God knows I don't deserve it, but it's nice to think about. I want your eyes to sparkle like they do when you're going on about your favorite book or eating a slice of cake. I want you to look at me that way. Like I hung the stars, which I did, but the sentiment still remains. I don't deserve it. I don't deserve you. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Crowley's head flung back against the couch, panting erratically then a thumb rubbing the tip of his dick, spreading the precum of the glans. Then felt a hand move to hold the back of his head. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i> You'd make sure I was alright before continuing. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>His partner started a steady motion, stroking him with a tight grip. Crowley reached out and grabbed frantically at the cushions of the couch. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i> You would act all giddy after seeing me like this, coming undone under your touch. Some sick part of you would find pleasure in all the sounds you could draw out of me. You'd never admit it, you're an angel after all, but I know better. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>There was a slick noise combining with the piano music, an amazingly erotic sound that made Crowley's insides quiver. Wouldn't be the first time he had heard it, he'd definitely been with himself before. But this was different somehow, having someone else make the contact. He was free to let his mind wander, and didn't have to focus on moving his hand as well. Made things seem more real. </p><p> </p><p>As real as they could be, at least. </p><p> </p><p>A sharp gasp escaped the demon, caught off guard by his partner who tightened their grip just a tinge but enough to be noticable. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i> You can be rough with me. Whatever you want from me, take it. I'll give it in droves. Anything to please you. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>There was a loss of contact, Crowley's temporary partner moving away from him, only noticable by the lack of pressure around his dick. There was a rustle from somewhere in the room, but Crowley didn't bother to try and decipher where it was coming from. He knew what happened next, he asked for it. </p><p> </p><p>The sound of velcro unfastening cut into the piano music like shattered glass. The soft image of a candlelit bookshop that hung heavy with the sweet scent of romantic and sexual intimacy and love cut away back to reality at least for that moment. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley was in a room somewhere, probably sound proofed from the rest of the club. He was in an anonymous sex club, with an anonymous partner. The piano music was playing because he wanted it to, not because the object of his affections decided to let it play in the background while they explored each other for the first time. The sweet scent, Crowley requested. It wasn't a natural scent worn by an angel that radiated love and kindness with a pinch of hedonism. It was a mask worn by the anonymous person, covering up their own aroma. </p><p> </p><p>This isn't right. </p><p> </p><p>The fantasy wouldn't come back. It was tainted. At least for the moment. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley's partner returned to the couch finally, the cushion squeaking as the crawled into position. Their hands grabbed for his hips, guiding him closer till he could feel the cold, wet tip of something nudging against his entrance. </p><p> </p><p>He asked for this. </p><p> </p><p>His partner squeezed his wrist, silently asking him for the go ahead. And leaned in closer. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley responded with a quick squeeze, wanting to get this over with, then let out a choked gasp as he felt himself be breached. </p><p> </p><p>Catching that delightful, sugary sweet scent again. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i> I imagine your face would be as red as cherries, and your mouth could hang open a bit. The noises you would make, nestled inside me, would be beautiful, indescribable. I would hope you would find that you fit perfectly there, like it was made for you to be in. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>"Azira--" </p><p> </p><p>No.</p><p>No no no no no no.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley almost pulled away, having said too much. That name, spoken in his voice in that tone was almost too much to handle. He couldn't pull away if he tried to, however. His partner was filling him to full and their hands were holding his hips in place. Completely helpless. </p><p> </p><p>But he wanted to leave now. This was ridiculous, he was ridiculous. Embarrassing himself like this, for what??</p><p> </p><p>To live out a fantasy that would never come true. </p><p> </p><p>His partner was completely still, when Crowley felt something warm roll down his cheek. </p><p> </p><p>Crying now. How low could he try to sink. </p><p> </p><p>His partner must've caught on to the shift in his emotions, as they paused what they were doing a reached for his wrist, giving it a squeeze. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley didn't respond, too absorbed in his thoughts. </p><p> </p><p>His partner tried again, squeezing a bit harder. And with a bit of hesitation, Crowley squeezed back. </p><p> </p><p>The cushions of the couch squeaked as his partner readjusted their position, giving Crowley a moment of reprieve to try and recapture the fantasy from earlier. He tried to focus on the music and that soft, sweet and sophisticated scent. After a moment, he was back in the bookshop, being taken on a red leather chaise lounge by a beautiful, kind and slightly mischievous angel. Who was gripping tightly at his thighs while pushing himself in and out at a steady pace. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i> Your voice is like a symphony. A song that plays on a pristine vinyl record, clear as a bell. I like to imagine that those filthy mewls you let out when you're indulging in something sweet echo the moans you make when fucking into me slow and steady. Don't rush. Please. I want to savor this, I want to savor you. This'll be the closest I get back to Heaven, I don't want to fall again. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Crowley felt himself relax again, melting into the exterior of the couch, his hands falling limp at his sides. The overwhelming panic and shame faded if only for the moment. He was caught off guard by a sharp thrust forward, a shrill yelp escaping him. </p><p> </p><p>It didn't break the immersion. He worked it into the fantasy. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i> Naughty angel. Couldn't resist the temptation to be just a bit rough. No complaints here. I want you to be rough, use me to your liking. I was made to be yours, to please you, to serve you...fuck... </i>
</p><p> </p><p>"Fuck..." Crowley heard his voice from somewhere in the room, but it didn't even register that he was speaking aloud. He was too far gone in his own thoughts to even care. </p><p> </p><p>The demon had slipped into a spell of submission, completely checked out from current reality. Sensory deprivation had it's perks, one of the main ones being the ability for the mind to manifest whatever it pleased. Crowley was still in a cold, dark room on a squeaky couch with a complete human stranger, who harnessed a flimsy piece of plastic that they were ramming into his backside with the coordination of a professional, but not in his mind at least. </p><p> </p><p>He could see the soft glow of candles surrounding him, his back was pressed against silken sheets, head resting on a soft pillow. He felt safe, loved and wanted, surrounded by an aura of comfort and care. His thighs were being held tightly by gentle but firm hands, attached to someone who radiated kindness, love swirled with a spicy sauce of desire. They didn't want to hurt him but they were damn sure they wanted to bring Crowley to his metaphorical knees. </p><p> </p><p>The same someone threw his head back with a sharp cry as he pushed himself deeper into the demon. Crowley could see the light catch a tear on their cheek, they looked so beautiful, so lovely, so tantalizing. He could hear their voice, cracking as it went even higher in pitch. And as it doled out praise after praise. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i> "You're doing so well, dear boy."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Beautiful, so beautiful."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"That's it, love." </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Crowley fell back again with a strained moan when they reached between them to grab ahold of his weeping dick, stroking in time with their steady thrusts. He could feel his insides tighten around his partner, eliciting absolutely filthy sounds from them. He had to refrain from coming on the spot at the sound, he wanted to savor this as long as he could, something in the back of his mind telling him that this was only temporary and after he finished, it would all be over. He tried to ignore the thought, reaching his hands up to hold onto his partner for dear life, surveying their soft skin before taking as much as possible of their body in his hands. They responded by picking up the pace, gripping tightly to Crowley's cock.</p><p> </p><p>No, no, no. God no. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley could feel that unmistakable sensation in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't say stop. His senses were shocked, his mind completely clouded. And he knew that's all his partner wanted was his pleasure. He couldn't deny him of that. They looked back at him with sky blue eyes brimming with adoration and affection, soft begging him to let go. And despite his reservations, he had to obey. </p><p> </p><p>With a cry and a shudder that crashed through Crowley's corporation violently, he was pushed over the edge. His partner didn't stop their ministrations, pumping his oversensitive cock, milking him completely dry. He whined pathetically, melting into the couch cushions like he lacked a skeleton. </p><p> </p><p>
  <i> You would hold me close, kissing every inch of my skin that you could, till eventually you would-</i>
</p><p>
  <i>you would-- </i>
</p><p> </p><p>The fantasy faded and shame returned with a vengeance, biting at his insides like a ravenous parasite. His partner pulled away and out, right before Crowley snapped his fingers. The music stopped and the world around him became deathly silent. In one quick motion, Crowley tumbled off the couch, tugging off the hood and tossing it across the room. He panted harshly, his eyes stinging, his legs barely wanted to hold him up. With the flick of his wrist, the robe appeared in his hand and was slipped over his arms. The chamber door opened as he walked towards it and into the hall, the bright neon lights lining the floor nearly blinding him. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley rushed back to the dressing room as fast as he could, snapping his fingers again when he crossed the threshold. The soft thumping of music could be heard from the upper level of the club as the world returned to normal like nothing happened. </p><p> </p><p>Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley noticed his reflection in the mirror. He looked back at it, baring his teeth. The reflective surface cracked under his judgemental stare. But healed back, as his fiery anger softened. </p><p> </p><p>He reminded himself what he had said earlier.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i> I did this. I asked for it. No one forced me. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>The robe fell off Crowley's shoulders then down his arms while he walked towards the shower stall in his dressing room. The water turned on at the hottest possible temperature, steam pouring into the small room, fogging up the mirror at the far side. Crowley stepped forward into the waterfall, barely flinching when the scalding hot water cascaded onto his skin. </p><p> </p><p>The demon stood there for moment, letting the water soak his hair and cover him in it's boiling embrace. He didn't reach for the artisanal soaps, the silky smooth shampoo or the variety of wet play toys in the nearby cabinet. Instead he fell against the shower wall, holding his face in his hands, shaking. The tears eventually fell, feeling like acid as they slipped down his cheeks. Pathetic sobs followed, loud and unhinged. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley felt like an idiot, a fucking fool. He knew this would happen and he still went through with it. But he convinced himself it would be worth it. The pain and the shame would be all worth it if just for a moment he got the chance to imagine that he could be loved and wanted by <i> him. </i></p><p> </p><p>And in some sick way, it was. </p><p> </p><p>Crowley could say that this was a one time thing. But demons were fantastic liars. And they were even better liars to themselves.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>At one point, I used sex as a form of self harm. I felt numb without it and just for the moment, it made me feel something. I'm better now but in intimate relationships I always feel some type of shame and fear that I'll revert back to my old ways. <br/>Smut fiction is my coping mechanism because I can explore sex and intimacy in a safe environment. </p><p>Long story short, you see the self talk that Crowley has involving,<br/>"I did this, I asked for it?" <br/>Yeah, that was my self talk. </p><p>This fic was straight catharsis. <br/>But its sequel will be alot nicer and sillier.</p><p>Come back soon for the sequel,<br/>"Cinnamon and Brimstone" 0:)</p><p>Thank you for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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